


Peacock

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Feanorian OT8, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:49:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2137584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maedhros is looking for a lost item of clothing; his brothers aren't much help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peacock

Maitimo doesn't even bother to knock. He barges into the bedroom instead, slamming the door against the wall in his haste.

“Have you seen my purple velvet tunic?” he asks urgently, though his brothers are asleep and he doesn't truly expect them to help.

“Mmmh?” Carnistir opens his eyes and peers at him drowsily.

“My tunic! The only decent one I brought with me, the silver-embroidered one. Have you seen it?”

The hint of reproach in Maitimo's voice completely wakes Carnistir, or rather his irritability. He frowns. “How am I supposed to know where your tunic is?”

Maedhros rummages through the assorted items of clothing amassed at the foot of the bed – one of the shirts he picks up is so dirty he grimaces in disgust and slowly puts it back down – then he walks to the armchair, but stumbles on a quiver. “Do you ever tidy this room up? It looks like a dump.” 

“What's the point? I'll clean up before we leave.” Carnistir follows his oldest brother's frantic movements with glee. 

The tunic isn't on the armchair either.

“What do you need your precious tunic for anyway?”

“I have to meet the village council. Well, Father was supposed to go, but he's working on some project or whatever that cannot be put off, and he's “asked” me to go instead.” It's by far not the first time it has happened, and though he doesn't usually mind to fill in for his father, it annoys him when Fëanáro only gives him short notice, as if taking for granted that he would be ready to at any time.

“Poor lazy Nelyo, forced to get his ass out of the house and do something for once.” Macalaurë doesn't even open his eyes. He just smiles in Carnistir's embrace and pulls his brother closer to himself. Carnistir is all too happy to spoon him tightly, and nuzzles his ear with his nose.

“I was planning to ask you to accompany me.”

“I can't get up now sorry. Try one of the twins.”

Taking the twins to a meeting where polite conversation was expected would have been tantamount to asking a bear for a dance. Maitimo bunches the closest garment up – Tyelcormo's riding pants – and throws it at his brothers. “I'm going to make sure you won't be able to stand up for the rest of the week as soon as I return.”

“I'll just hide in bed with father,” Macalaurë sing-songs in a way that only further vexes his oldest brother.

“Have you looked in the other room?” Carnistir says. There are only two bedrooms in their temporary home – one of the many they've rented and left behind – and only two double beds. They don't mind; they're used to all sorts of sleeping arrangements, four in a bed meant for two is one of the most comfortable.

“What do you think!”

“You could go dressed like that.”

Maitimo's eyes widen in exaggerated outrage, an offshoot of his vanity. “How can I go dressed so plainly? What would they think?”

Macalaurë sighs. “You don't have to look like a peacock to talk to some old farmers on their own lands. They'll probably be smitten by your looks anyway.”

“You can take Turco's tunic, it's not as elegant as yours, and it'll be a little tight, but you can use that to your advantage too” Carnistir mockingly suggests. “He won't mind, I'm sure.”

Tyelcormo is sprawled behind Carnistir, completely naked, and still blissfully asleep.

Maitimo snorts, but then his eyes fall on a strip of cloth peeking out from under the bed. He crouches down. He finds a cape, a pair of boots, one of the twins' shirts (they had been bickering about its disappearance for days) and finally his own tunic. It's dusty, but there are no visible stains on it. He sighs in relief – he remembers it probably ended up three nights before during a scuffle with Tyelcormo that had ended in sex, after a long tedious dinner at their landlord's – and flaps it vigorously. 

Macalaurë has opened his eyes and can barely restrain his laughter at the sight of his comically serious face.

“Moryo, at least you must wash -”

“Yes yes, I'll do the laundry tomorrow. Or the day after. Don't slam the door on your way out, thank you.”

Maitimo bites back a retort. Macalaurë isn't as controlled.

“Have fun, Peacock.”

The ring Maitimo throws at him before shutting the door hits him on the top of his head.


End file.
